


McClane's Little Pony

by objectlesson



Category: Live Free or Die Hard (2007)
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Domestic, Established Relationship, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Matt's a brony, Plastic pony toys invade the MattClane home, nerdiness ahoy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-02
Updated: 2013-02-02
Packaged: 2017-11-27 20:37:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/666248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/objectlesson/pseuds/objectlesson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Matt likes My Little Pony. McClane has a hard time swallowing this fact.</p>
            </blockquote>





	McClane's Little Pony

**Author's Note:**

> So I'll admit it. I'm a brony. 
> 
> For those of you who don't know, bronies are adult, (usually) male fans of the series My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic. There are a ton of them. It recently occurred to me how likely Matt Farrell's Brony Identity would be. I mean, most bronies are gaming computer nerds. (I say this affectionately). Since Matt is my favorite gaming computer nerd...I wrote this story. I don't own My Little Pony or these characters.

McClane thought he’d seen the worst of Matt’s eccentrics during the first two years of whatever they’d been doing. But then, the third year, the ponies invaded. 

At first it was a subtle invasion. A solitary plastic pegasus on the edge of Matt’s keyboard, a unicorn sticker on the lower left corner of his monitor. McClane assumed they were _ironic_ , a word he learned from Matt early on, a word Matt used to describe why he bought , wore, did, and listened to things he didn’t like. It was a logical assumption; there was no reason to think that Matt _actually_ liked pastel pony toys. Why the hell would he?

But then, they stared multiplying over night. The one on the keyboard suddenly had a few more friends, all of them with wide, saccharine eyes and curly, brushable manes. McClane stared at them each morning while be brewed his coffee, wondering why there were more each time he looked. And it wasn’t just the toys. Sometimes, McClane would sneak up on Matt while he was at his laptop, eyes narrowed at images of _ponies_. Matt would exit out of the window quick, guilty like it was porn or something. 

Most suspiciously, there were the long blocks of time Matt would sit hunched up in the only corner of the living room where McClane could not get a good look at his screen, headphones in, cackling to himself every once and awhile like he was watching something hilarious. 

“What are you doing?” McClane interrogated, brows knit suspiciously. “You sound like a fuckin’ maniac over there.” 

Matt peered over the edge of his monitor, eyes as wide and saccharine as a plastic pony while he regarded McClane. “Nothing,” he’d say noncommittally, before shoving his earphones back in and dropping his gaze. 

_Nothing my ass_ , McClane thought. He didn’t know what it was. But he was pretty sure it had to do with ponies. 

\---

The nail in Matt’s coffin of secrecy occurred on one of these nights, when McClane screamed at the basketball game and Matt cracked up at whatever clandestine pony activity he was hiding in the corner. It was halftime, and McClane had the TV muted. Then, Matt accidentally yanked his headphones out of the port on the side of his laptop. The silence was suddenly filled with a high-pitched voice singing, “ _my little pony, my little ponyyyy, ahhh, ahh, ahh, ahh!_ ” And like that, Matt Farrell was busted. 

“Okay. Okay, I’ve been _quiet_ , I haven’t asked any fucking questions...but _what_. What. Is with the ponies?” McClane said desperately, standing up and trying to steal a glance at Matt’s computer screen. He twisted out of the way, looking terrified. 

“What? I’m just watching My Little Pony. No big deal.” He tried to say this nonchalantly, but his cheeks were red. 

McClane felt a volcano start to rumble inside him, ready to spew lava all over the living room and Matt’s unconvincing mock innocence. “You’re watching _My Little Pony?_ Like...the _eighties cartoon for girls?”_

Matt actually had the gall to _roll his eyes_. “First off, _no_. It’s the 2011 _remake_ of the eighties cartoon, _My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic_. Totally different, dramatically superior series. Second off, who says is has to be for girls? That kind of binary upholding rhetoric is what causes kids like me to get the shit kicked out of them in elementary school because there’s some absurd standard of masculinity floating around that old, white, cops invented to cope with their own castration anxieties.” 

Over the years, McClane had gotten quite good at ignoring all the sentences that Matt said which had things like “ binary upholding rhetoric” and “castration anxieties” in them. He usually just nodded. Matt didn’t ask him if he was really listening if he _appeared_ as if he was really listening, so it usually did the trick. Naturally, he disregarded Matt’s entire second point. “There’s a My Little Pony remake?! Why? They didn’t have enough tea parties or something in the eighties?” 

Matt flicked his hair out of his eyes, a skeptical line through his brow. “No, too _many_ tea parties. Friendship is Magic is, um, actually trying to _debunk_ the gender stereotypes vreated by the 80s series. And perpetuated by the 90’s series, My Little Pony Tales. See, there are actually multiple generations of the My Little Pony Franchise, and I’m only, um, interested in Gen4...” 

“Gender stereotypes?! _They’re ponies!_ ” McClane interrupted, so exasperated that his face started to get hot. “ _My daughter_ didn’t even watch My Little Pony. The whole thing...you’re in danger of sounding gay, kid.”

Again, there was that fucking eyeroll. Matt’s big, infuriatingly irresistible big brown eyes were getting a fucking olympic workout, like McClane had just said the stupidest thing in the whole world. Like, _of course_ ponies are subjected to gender stereotypes, silly. That was basically what his eyes were saying. His mouth said “Um, significantly less gay that you _sucking my cock_ pretty much every fucking night for the last few years, John Fucking Hetero Beacon to The World McClane. Also, Your daughter watched COPS and Locked up Raw as a kid. Come on.” 

“My Little Pony?” McClane repeated, not feeling up for defending his dubious parenting strategies, nor his status as heterosexual beacon to the world, which he _never_ claimed to be, but whatever. Matt liked to make shit up, it was part of his charm. He chose a sexuality neutral attack instead. “You’re an _adult_ , Matt. Whatever the cartoons are about, whether its ponies or super heros or whatever...why are you watching _cartoons?”_

“I think the actual question is, why you are so threatened by me watching cartoons? I think you’re internalizing some, um, societal stigmas about out age gap. Getting a little insecure about the May December thing.” 

McClane rolled his eyes this time. “Yeah, you wish this was about me. But it’s actually about you. Watching Saturday morning cartoons about ponies and trying to pass it off as some radical, progressive ‘fuck you’ to patriarchy or something.” He poked Matt in the chest with his index finger, and Matt wriggled away, ticklish. “You’re not a radical. You’re a house boy.” 

“I’m not trying to pass it off as anything,” Matt grumbled, sticking his tongue out. It did very little to make him appear older and more mature, if that was what he was going for. “I actually watch Friendship is Magic--” 

“Friendship is Magic,” McClane parroted in disbelief, his brows raised and dismayed. 

“I _actually watch Friendship is Magic_ because it’s a really good show. That’s it. Not rocket science or anything. Just um, a really good show.” Matt seemed sincere, which was weird. McClane stared at him with the Bad Cop stare, waited for him to crack and start spewing more shit about castration anxieties. It never happened. He maintained a guise of innocence. 

“Yeah, whatever. I’ll believe it when I see it,” he said eventually. And he wouldn’t have to believe it, because he was never planning on seeing it. 

___

 

John McClane was _also_ not planning on getting the motherfucking cold to end all motherfucking colds. The bad kind, the kind where he actually had to take off work and lie in bed with a humidifier, kleenex box, and a bottle of cough syrup. He was chugging the shit straight out of the bottle. It was hell. 

Luckily, Matt worked from the house. This meant he could wait on McClane, cleaning his used tissues out of the sheets, bringing him heated up campbell’s chicken noodle, listening to him complain. 

“Jesus. For a guy who regularly breaks every single one of his limbs, you sure bitch a lot when you’re sick,” Matt observed, making a face when his thumb went through one of the tissues in his hand. “Gross.” 

“Being sick is different than breaking bones. There’s no adrenaline,” McClane said hoarsely. 

“Yeah...but you’ve _shot yourself_ before. I’ve watched you _shoot yourself._ And now you’re like, acting like its the end of the world because you have a temperature. Of 99, which hardly even counts.” Matt sat down on the bed, wiggled under the covers towards McClane. “Guess I shouldn’t even bother trying not to contract your illness. You’ve been coughing all over me all day.” 

McClane leaned over, and coughed right on Matt’s face. “Yep. Stuck with me, kid.” 

“Hate you,” Matt said noncommittally, rubbing his cheek on McClane’s shoulder. “You want to watch something with me? Take your mind off of the fact that you’re allegedly dying?” 

“Sure,” McClane grunted. “M.A.S.H?” 

Matt’s face glazed over with a pained expression. “You _only_ want to watch M.A.S.H. We’ve watched each episode of M.A.S.H um, at least three hundred and fifteen times.” 

“Yeah. And they’re good every time.” 

“But you can _recite all the lines_ ,” Matt argued, grabbing his laptop and dragging it onto his stomach. “If we’re aiming to distract you from how obnoxious and miserable you are, then we should watch something _new._ ” 

McClane eyed Matt. Hell, he was one cute kid. Maybe it was the fact that his mind was muddled with illness and his nearing death, but Matt’s hair, all tameless and rucked up in back because he hadn’t combed it or washed it in a few days, begged to be smoothed by a McClane’s palm. And his lips, too pink and plush to belong to a normal person, really should be kissed. Bitten, maybe. McClane was so exhausted with coughing and blowing his nose, though, that all he could do was lie there and check Matt out. Keep all that stinging tension in his mouth for later, when he was up for fucking the kid into the mattress. But in the meantime, what the hell. He had done weirder things. “How about My Little Pony?” McClane proposed. 

Matt’s head snapped around so he could narrow his eyes at McClane, one brow raised in very obvious skepticism. “You serious?” 

“Yeah. ” McClane shrugged. “Put it on.” 

Matt shoot his head, hair tumbling into his eyes in chaotic, oily chunks. Still cute as hell. McClane was getting a fuckin’ cavity on top of his cold. “What, so you can make fun of me for the whole twenty minutes? No thank you. I know your sadistic sick-person tendencies.” 

McClane sighed. “I’m trying to humor you, kid. Trying to come to terms with the fact that I live with the only guy in his late twenties who watches _My Little Fucking Pony.”_

Matt laughed. Actually _laughed_ at him, this incredulous laugh. He looked positively excited to prove McClane wrong. “I’m not the _only_ guy. Not for a long shot, buddy. There are _millions_ of adult, often male fans of Friendship is Magic. Like, maybe even billions. All over the world. They make art and remix the songs in the show, and sew plush ponies, and collect the Hasbro toy line--”

“Gibberish, kid, slow down,” McClane barked before he coughed. The one solitary cough turned into a coughing fit, which turned into an impressive gulp of remedying cough syrup. “There are _more_ of you ?” He finally rasped, eyes watering. “What is _wrong_ with the world?” 

“There are billions,” Matt repeated, demonstrating his astounding knack for hyperbole . “Most of them are way more obsessed then I am.” 

Things were beginning to make sense to McClane. Ever since the first plastic pony appeared on Matt’s keyboard, there had also been a number of strange phonecalls he overheard Matt making, which had been mostly unintelligible. Pretty much everything Matt said to his hacker friends was unintelligible and seemed like it was in an entirely different language, but the word _Hasbro_ seemed to ring some bells. McClane remembered it coming up on Matt’s side of the conversations, urgent things like, _Hasbro should know the blind bags will sell out faster then the brushable models...I’m swamped today but you think you can grab be a handful? I’m looking for a Bumblesweet and crystal edition Pinkie. Have the rest of the mane six, sure. Extra Dashes if you want to trade._

Shit. It was all falling into place now. The Ponies. They were everywhere. 

“I don’t get it,” McClane admitted, then sneezed. 

“It’s a really, really good show,” Matt stated again, firmly. 

“So you’ve said,” McClane answered. “And I don’t believe you. So, put it on, prove me wrong.”

There was evidence written upon Matt’s face suggesting that he was waging an internal battle of sorts. His eyebrows were particularly active, his pupils so wide they were nearly blacking out the dark-brown that surrounded them. On the one hand, he looked like he _did_ want to prove McClane wrong. On the other, he appeared to not completely believe that he could. And if he didn’t, McClane would be insufferable. He would give him shit for the rest of his life. 

“Hey. If I hate it, I’ll only make fun of you until I’m well again. As payback for subjecting me to something I hate when I feel like shit. But once I’m back in the line of duty...not a word about the ponies. Okay?” He proposed, rubbing his palm up Matt’s skinny thigh. 

Matt regarded him with one of his eyebrows arched up, then tilted into McClane’s touch. “Deal. _If_ you hate it. Which you might not.” 

McClane threw his arm around Matt’s shoulder, shook him and drew him closer so he could snuffle into his ear. “Yeah. We’ll see about that.” 

___

McClane was distracted by Matt for the first few minutes of the episode, (that Matt had slaved away over for fifteen minutes choosing) because Matt was sitting next to him and felt fucking great, when everything else in life felt fucking terrible. He kept on pushing his face into Matt’s hair and inhaling it, the comforting unwashed smell of Matt and just Matt, no shampoo or hair gel or anything else to cover it up. 

“Are you even watching?” Matt asked, poking McClane in the side. “You know, if you’re using the scientific method to conduct an experiment and garner results, you kind of have to, um, _pay attention_ in order to maintain any accuracy. You know, if you’re still interested in--”

McClane blew in Matt’s ear. It shut him up, at least temporarily. “Yeah yeah. Okay, start it over again and stop smelling so damn good.” 

Matt complied with the one request of McClane’s two that he could actually follow through on, and started the episode over. “Now, _watch_. For serious.” 

Sighing, McClane tore himself from Matt’s hair, and fixed his eyes on the laptop screen, where there were pastel ponies frozen in motion. He grimaced. “Okay. Lets try this again.” 

“Ugh,” Matt dragged the courser back to the beginning. 

The episode began, and McClane tried hard to not scoff. He really did. Matt was silent and stoic next to him, clearly unwilling to laugh or relax and enjoy this show he liked until he was sure McClane was actually invested. And McClane was invested. He could be invested in something he was trying very hard not to scoff at. And he was trying _really hard_. 

But then, the purple unicorn started singing. “Oh, come on,” he griped. “Matt. This has singing unicorns in it. I can’t do it.” 

“You’ve watched like, three minutes of it!” Matt exclaimed, throwing his arms up in the air. “Just, _watch_. A whole episode. Songs and all.” 

“There are no singing unicorns in M.A.S.H” McClane grumbled as Matt resumed the episode. 

The song continued, and then (finally) ended. The ponies continued to be ponies. From what McClane could gather, the main characters were as follows: dykey angry blue flying pony, sentimental singing purple unicorn, obnoxious high pitched pink pony, pushover yellow pony, British diva unicorn, orange hillbilly pony, fat purple lizard thing. He think he found the fat purple lizard thing least offensive, probably because he appeared how McClane felt: the only man in a world full of musical pastel equines. 

“I like this one,” he grunted, pointing at the lizard. 

Matt grinned at him. “Spike?” 

“Yeah. That one. Spike.” 

Then Matt had to ruin it for him. “Spike is megaqueer. One of the most obviously radical character on the show, in regards to smashing gender expectations. There’s one episode where he decides that he identifies as a pony, instead of a dragon, which is clearly allegorical to the social construction of, uh, gender identity. And he likes baking, ballet, singing...and he cries freely--” 

“Shut up, trying to hear the ponies,” McClane lied. Mostly, he didn’t want to hear anymore about the apparently “megaqueer” character he accidentally said he _liked_ , when he meant _tolerated._ He narrowed his eyes at the screen, his brain hurting from the pink one’s voice. “This one is you,” he said, pointing to her. “She has your hair.” 

It was intended to be an insult, but Matt just shrugged. “Pinkie Pie?! Huh. Always thought of myself more as a Twilight Sparkle type of guy.” Matt mused, not catching that McClane was teasng him because he clearly didn’t find this Pinkie Pie pony annoying. It was almost funny to hear Matt utter things like _Twilight Sparkle_ without any irony in his voice. He was talking about these ponies like they were people. Or even his _friends._ If McClane wasn’t in love with him, he would probably think he was a little pathetic.

“Which one is Twilight Twinkle?” 

“Sparkle. The singing unicorn, with the brother who’s getting married in Canterlot.” 

“Ah. Of course. The wedding. How could I have forgotten about the wedding in Canterlot.” McClane blew his nose. Suffered through more ponies. The lizard, Spike, played with some cake toppers with Pinkie Pot or whatever her name was, immediately making him seem significantly less manly he had earlier. Plus, he was fraternizing with the enemy. “Oh no. My man Spike, he went over to the dark side,” McClane complained.

Matt ignored him, and the ponies kept on being ponies. From what McClane could tell, Twilight Twinkle’s brother was getting married to this pink pony that was a unicorn and the flying kind of pony at the same time. And she was a total bitch. And Twilight Twinkle could tell, but none of her friends could, because they seemed to all think Twilight Twinkle was an over-reacting type of pony. “Her friends suck,” McClane observed. 

“Yeah...Twilight always gets stuck in these predicaments, where she knows something and everyone ignores her because she also gets stuck in imaginary predicaments where she thinks the fate of equestria rests in her hooves but really she just has a stress problem. Pony who cried wolf type of thing.” He paused, then looked at McClane with his eyes narrowed. “You must think I sound crazy. I’m talking about her like I know her. Or like she’s real.” 

McClane nodded. “You sound pretty crazy. But Twilight Twinkle is the one you relate to most. It would make sense that you have such an incredible depth of knowledge surrounding the complexity of her character.” 

“You’re mocking me,” Matt said dryly. 

“Only a little bit.” McClane grinned. 

___

Thirty minutes, one wedding, one changeling army, one gay pony kiss, and _three songs later_ (Matt argued two songs, because apparently one ‘was a reprise’) McClane’s first exposure to Friendship is Magic was over. He stared at the screen, blinking. 

“Okay. Hm.” he said. 

Matt stared at him anxiously. “Okay, hm?” 

McClane shrugged. “Was kinda cute. I’m not sold, though. I’m not sold. ” 

“Huh...well. Thought you’d have a more vehement negative reaction than that. I guess this is a positive start.” Matt made a move to shut the laptop, but McClane stopped him. 

“Need more research to make any kind of definitive conclusion. Said I wasn’t sold, not that I hated it. So, throw on another.” 

Matt regarded McCane with an expression akin to shock. “You want to watch _another?_ ” 

“Why not. I can’t fucking move, except to take a shit and blow my nose. So yeah. Put on some ponies. Preferably an episode with no singing.” 

Matt hammered away on the keyboard, eyes all bright, which made McClane curse him for being so irresistible. “Okay. Um, here’s one where Twilight will remind you of me. Hopefully. It has Pinkie Pie in it, too.” 

“Oh Joy. My favorite.” 

“Hey. I used to think she was annoying too. But she grows on you. Kind of reminds me of you, actually...says weird shit a lot.” 

Of course, Matt would liken McClane to the pinkest, most high-pitched, cake-loving, party-throwing pony of them all. Because she _says weird shit_. McClane was insulted, but he didn’t give Matt the satisfaction of _knowing_ he was insulted. “So I’m the pink one,” he said dryly, between coughs and swigs of sticky, saccharine Robitussin. 

“Technically, you are not like any of these ponies. You’re not, um, exactly suited to be kids show material or anything,” Matt explained, queuing up another episode. “Are you ready for some more?” he asked. 

McClane wasn’t sure if he was ready. Hell, he was pretty sure he _wasn’t_ , and that he was more ready to give up on ponies in favor of seeing if Matt was up for giving him a sorry-you’re-on-your-deathbed handjob as a thank you for sitting through forty minutes os singing unicorns. But then, Matt still looked damn good, sitting there with his eyes shining his laptop open, his hair a wreck. He looked like a kid, ready for his cheerios and saturday morning cartoons. McClane couldn’t help it. He caved in. 

“Yup. Prove you’re Twilight Twinkle.” 

Matt shook his head, grinned. “You’re...hm. You’re pretty cute under all that disease and muscle and cop bullshit. Sometimes I can tell you like me. It’s, um, endearing. Heartwarming. Hallmark-worthy.” 

McClane smacked Matt’s knee, making it jerk in reflex. “Ponies!” He ordered, objecting to Matt’s completely inaccurate suggestion that he was _hallmark-worthy_. 

“Okay, jeez. Ponies.” 

McClane settled down into Matt’s shoulder, resenting the fact he couldn’t breathe, but otherwise comfortable as long as there was contact between his body and Matt’s. Matt was warm, and comfortable, and alive, so he could tolerate ponies as long as there was contact. He could sit through a twenty minute episode without combusting. 

He sat through a twenty minute episode. 

Then, he sat through another. 

Possibly another. He wasn’t sure. Time was beginning to blend into itself, his fever burning up, various shades of pink and blue and yellow and lavender all melting together and solidifying into a beam of color, a rainbow streaking across Equestria.

Matt had done it. He had _broken_ Mclane’s _brain_. After his fourth (or possibly fifth?) episode of Friendship is Magic, he _actually_ wanted to continue watching. He didn’t even know why. It wasn’t like he _liked_ it, but he certainly didn’t hate it as much as he wanted to. As much as he _should_. It was kind of...entertaining. And funny. And plus, Twolight Sprinkle reminded him of Matt, because she was anal and smart and had huge eyes and nice hair. 

It reminded him of his own Saturday mornings as a snot-nosed brat, sliding out of his Mighty Mouse sheets to race down the stairs, plop himself down on the couch and watch Speed Racer and Loony Toons (which were, admittedly, much weirder and more violent that Friendship is Magic seemed to be.) He felt like a kid again. 

It wasn’t a bad way to feel. Especially when he was stuck loving an actual kid. Matt _should_ have made him feel even older than he was, Matt _should_ have highlighted all the ways they were different. McClane’s sore backs, his scars, his cynicism, his complete and utter _lack of hair_. Matt who was bendy and flexible, who had hair to pull and who bruised like a peach but faded the next morning, like it had never happened. Matt who was _young_. Who liked _cartoons_. It should have made McClane feel even more wasted away, in comparison. 

But weirdly enough, that wasn’t how it worked. Matt, next to him with those insanely bright eyes. Matt, who threw his head back and cracked up at My Little Pony, Matt who complained about eating his vegetables and who had toys on his desktop. Matt, who refused to grow up, actually _made McClane feel younger._ It was a paradox. It defied the laws of physics. 

Because here McClane was, watching My Little Pony. 

“Another episode?” Matt asked, grinning. 

“Hell,” McClane said, kissing the corner of Matt’s mouth even through he was probably going to infect him. “Why not?” 

\---


End file.
